Friday Fictioneers 10-15-2017

PHOTO POMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

“He’s a squawker, ain’t he,” Bill asked over the baby’s frantic cries.

“You’re holding him too tight.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re going to hurt him.”

“I ain’t gonna hurt him. What’d you care anyway. It’s just a stinky bird.”

“It’s not……  it’s….” She didn’t know, but it had wings. One day it could fly away, be free.

“Dumb bitch.” He squeezed his fist around the baby bird then tossed it aside.  Onto the concrete. Walked inside.

She fell to her knees beside the tiny body, crying for broken wings.



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Flash Fiction for the Practical Practitioner


“Do you think it would be good to eat?”

She cuffed him. “Birds aren’t for eating!”

“Of course they are! I know they are!”

“You are nothing but a silly boy. You just wanting to kill everything.”

The bird’s tail feathers twitched and both were instantly mesmerized, eyes taking in every detail. Bo-Bo flicked his tail, making silent meowing sounds.

Princess curled her tail, cuffing him again on the ear with one paw. “Stop that. You’ll scare it away. It’s pretty.”

“Pretty? Pretty? Who cares about pretty?”

She sniffed, just enough to show her disdain.  “Killer.”


“Take that back!” she hissed.

“You take it back!”

They tumbled together, teeth and claws. Neither realized the bird was gone until too late.

Both hissed, glaring at each other.

“What mother would name her kitten Bo Bo?”

“Better than Princess.”

“No it’s not! Princess is a great name.”

“Is not!”



Another bird settled on the fence.



“Good to eat.”